


Finding Me

by dragon_temeraire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Never Met, Fluff, Full Shift Werewolves, Healing, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Recovery, Stiles Helps, Werewolf Derek Hale, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 22:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13153542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_temeraire/pseuds/dragon_temeraire
Summary: There’s a werewolf at the park pretending to be a dog. Stiles isn’t exactly sure what to do about that.





	Finding Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt on tumblr: “I'd love to see a take on the "Werewolf pretends to be a large dog to get attention or food from an unsuspecting human", except the other person is also a werewolf and can tell right away.”

Stiles likes walking home from work. He feels more connected to the world when he can smell and hear it all around him, with no doors or walls in the way.

He usually cuts through the park at the edge of the preserve, because it always has a sort of happy, warm feel to it. It gives him a sense of contentment every time. As he comes over the hill he can see that it’s pretty empty today: a woman is pushing her stroller along the path through the middle, an older lady is sitting on one of the benches knitting, and there’s a guy petting a rather large dog by the volleyball court.

Except that when the man gives a final pat and turns to go, Stiles freezes for a step, skin prickling in surprise, because it’s _another werewolf_.

“Hey,” he says, and it comes out more sharply than he intended.

But it works, because the were’s head swings toward him, and he comes loping over, tongue lolling out. Stiles figures that’s to make him look like a non-threatening dog, rather than the wolf he actually is. His cold nose presses against Stiles’ hand, shamelessly asking to be petted, his tail softly wagging.

Stiles is about to rip into him, to demand to know what he thinks he’s doing, hanging around humans while fully shifted and acting like a _dog_ , but then his brain catches up with the situation, and his jaw clenches shut. Because he has to consider _why_ , exactly, a were would be seeking attention this way.

The underlying scent of loneliness he can pick up through the smell of grass and leaves and other people only highlights the fact that _something_ is going on. But Stiles isn’t sure what, and finds that he’s gliding his fingers across the top of the “dog’s” head automatically as he thinks about it.

Stiles is using his magic to cloak his scent—it’s really only good for that, and a few tricks with mountain ash, so he tries to utilize it as much as possible—but he’s still surprised he hasn’t been recognized as a werewolf. Obviously his skills are improving.

The wolf’s fur is soft and thick, and when Stiles digs his hands into it, lightly scratching, the wolf makes a sort of soft, pleased humming noise. Stiles just tries not to laugh.

And decides to play along instead, hoping he’ll be able to figure something out. He crouches down in front of the wolf, scratching under the chin, then taps his chest and says, “No collar?” in the gently chiding tone people use with dogs. “You’ll get in trouble. And I bet the last place you want to end up is the pound, buddy.”

The wolf huffs a little at that, and wiggles against Stiles’ hands, clearly wanting more petting. Stiles doesn’t smile, because it’ll only encourage him.

“I can’t stay, I’m on my way home,” he says, giving the wolf a final pat. “You should be getting home, too.”

The wolf makes a low sound as Stiles walks away, but doesn’t try to follow him.

He does wag his tail when Stiles looks back, though.

 

*

 

Stiles doesn’t end up at the park again for a couple of days, but when he does, the “dog” is there again. Fetching a _Frisbee_ of all things, and looking like an idiot while trying to catch it midair.

Stiles sits on a bench to watch, because while he’s never considered himself to be dignified, he’s also never seen another werewolf act like _this_. Sure, werewolves run and play—Stiles likes to shift when he has too much excess energy and needs to burn it off—but to see one acting so much like a dog is kind of disorienting and weird.

He hadn’t ever considered doing something like this, despite the fact that he makes dog jokes around his pack all the time.

Eventually the girls playing with the wolf get tired and go home, taking their mauled Frisbee with them. After getting goodbye pats from them, the wolf immediately zeroes in on Stiles, trotting over with his ears pricked eagerly.

“Hey,” Stiles says, reaching to pet, then pausing when his fingers encounter something that’s _not_ fur.

The wolf is wearing a _collar_ this time.

Stiles has an internal moment of hilarity, imagining a werewolf purchasing a collar for himself, while maybe surreptitiously finding a way to try it on first. When he’s done stifling his laughter, he leans down to see what’s engraved on the tag.

It says:

_Derek._

_Not lost._

_Very friendly._  

“Derek is kind of an odd name for a dog,” Stiles says, scratching him behind the ears. “But I like it,” he adds, and doesn’t miss the way Derek’s tail starts wagging.

It’s a little surreal, pretending that someone is a dog when you _know_ they’re a person, but Stiles does his best. And he has to admit, it has it’s perks—running his fingers through Derek’s soft fur is actually pretty soothing.

“I had kind of a rough day at work today. You want to hear about it?” Stiles asks idly, mostly because it’s impossible for him to sit in silence for long. So he’s really only kidding, but Derek promptly rests his head in Stiles’ lap, ears pricked with interest.

And Stiles feels a little silly, talking to someone who can’t say anything back, but it _does_ make him feel better. He worries he’s being selfish, putting this on Derek when he clearly has issues of his own, but when he takes a subtle sniff, he only gets contentment from him.

Though admittedly, it’s harder to smell complex emotions on someone who’s fully shifted. But at least Stiles knows he’s not bothering Derek.

He talks for more than an hour, drifting to random thoughts and ideas, and Derek stays there with him the whole time, a comforting weight against Stiles’ legs.

He can’t help being grateful.

 

*

 

Stiles ends up visiting his dad for the weekend, partly just to get him to take some vacation time. And when his dad asks, ever so casually, if he’s met anyone new, Stiles can say with complete honesty that he’s been talking to a guy named Derek.

Thankfully his dad doesn’t press for more, just moves on to asking him about what he’s been doing lately, though he does remind Stiles that he’s welcome to bring _someone_ to dinner anytime.

Stiles tries not to roll his eyes. He’d never imagined his dad would turn into such a matchmaker.

Staying with his dad means he doesn’t get back to the park for several days, but when he does show up, Derek runs over to him immediately, tail waving happily.

“Hi,” Stiles says, then laughs when Derek nudges against his hand. It’s a very subtle hint. “Sorry I was gone,” he says, giving in and starting to pet Derek. “But I had to visit my dad. He still worries about me, even though I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”

He doesn’t mention that it’s been easier fend for himself since he was bitten, though he probably should. It’s likely Derek would want to know that another werewolf knows that he’s pretending to be a dog.

And if he wants any chance of knowing who Derek is as a _person_ , he needs to come clean.

But not today, he thinks, scratching behind Derek’s ears.

He needs time to think of a tactful way to do it.

 

*

 

After a lot of deliberation, Stiles realizes he’s absolutely terrible at being tactful. Also, giving a long, supportive speech to a dog in the middle of the park is going to be weird as hell, no matter what he actually says.

Thankfully, there’s not too many people there when Stiles shows up, so when Derek trots over, Stiles promptly says, “Look, Derek. I don’t know why you’re doing this. I don’t know what happened to you. But I think I can understand, at least a little bit.” He drops his magic then, so his werewolf scent is revealed. “So if you ever want to talk—”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish, because Derek snaps his jaws angrily at him and then turns and runs off into the woods.

Stiles sighs, leans back morosely on the bench. That could have gone better.

He ends up walking home slowly, hoping at any moment Derek will come bounding up to him again, tail wagging.

It doesn’t happen.

And it leaves Stiles feeling lonely, making him tempted to howl for his pack, even though they’re all miles and miles away for school or jobs.

So he clamps down on the urge, because he’ll only feel lonelier if he howls and no one answers.

 

*

 

Stiles enjoying a well-earned day off, relaxing in his sweatpants while soup simmers on the stove, and the only thing he’s thinking about is whether he’ll be able to finish reading the book he started earlier. So when his doorbell rings, he jumps a little in surprise.

He’s not due for a visit from anyone, and he just saw his dad last week, so.

He has no idea who it could be. He’s tempted to ignore it, because it’s probably a salesperson, but his curiosity gets the better of him and he decides to check anyway.

His house is pretty soundproofed, because becoming a werewolf didn’t really change his tendency to get easily distracted—in fact, it just gave him _more_ things to be distracted by. So he can just vaguely hear that _someone_ is on the other side of the door, but not much else.

He yanks it open, ready to say ‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ but when he sees who’s there, his tongue promptly sticks to the roof of his mouth. He has no idea who this beautiful man is, but whatever he’s selling, Stiles is _definitely_ buying.

He swallows, trying to figure out something to say. “Um, hi?” is all he manages.

The handsome stranger stares at him, jaw tensed and seeming almost ready to bolt, then blurts, “I followed your scent trail here, I hope that’s okay.”

“You—what?” Stiles says, as his brain, which had been running over the many different ways to casually ask this guy out, finally catches up to the current situation. Noticing that the stranger smells like another—rather _familiar—_ wolf is only confirmation. “ _Derek?_ ” he asks disbelievingly.

“Yes,” Derek says, ducking his head and looking away.

Stiles is very glad Derek isn’t wearing his collar now, because he’s pretty sure his heart couldn’t take it. “Okay,” he says, trying to rally. “I’m Stiles. Do you, um, do you want to come in?” When Derek looks hesitant, he adds, “I have soup,” in what he hopes is an enticing manner.

“It does smell good,” Derek ventures in a way Stiles would describe as shy, except that his expression doesn’t really change from neutral, and his body language stays stiff and wary.

He can’t help thinking that Derek was much friendlier as a dog.

But Derek came here to Stiles of his own volition, and that means _something_. So Stiles gives him a friendly smile and says, “Come on in, then.”

He directs Derek to the couch, then heads to the stove to give the soup a stir.

“It’s almost done, just needs a little bit longer,” he says, joining Derek. “So we have time to talk, if you want to.”

Derek nods, but doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Stiles resists jumping in, because he _can_ be patient, dammit.

Derek hunches over a little, hands curling around each other, then says, “I lost my whole family a little over a year ago.”

It hits Stiles like a punch to the gut, and he struggles not to react, because Derek’s still talking.

“And there were—there were so many things happening all at once. I had funeral arrangements and memorial services and all of these _condolences_ I had to deal with,” he grits out. “And after that was over, it was easier to just stay in my house. My family…they left me a lot of money. So I quit my job. I was tired of seeing people, tired of trying to talk to them through all the platitudes. The only ones that I allowed to visit me were the family lawyer and the doctor.”

Stiles nods in understanding, but keeps quiet.

“And it was that way for months—I signed the papers the lawyer brought, looked over the paperwork the accountant faxed over, took the information about therapy from the doctor. That was it. I mostly kept to myself, because I couldn’t deal with all the _memories_ —”

Derek hasn’t actually said it, but Stiles is pretty sure his family _was_ his pack. It’s hard enough for a human to lose someone they care about, but it’s even rougher on a werewolf, especially when there’s a pack bond involved. There’s a total loss of connection, a feeling of emptiness that pulls on you, day in and day out.

Stiles had felt all of that when Allison had _almost_ died. He couldn’t imagine the feeling if he’d suddenly lost his _whole pack_.

“So by the time I realized I _did_ want to reach out, I felt like it was too late. I’d isolated myself for months, kept a firm distance between myself and other people, and I didn’t know how to undo it.”

“So you started going to the park?” Stiles guesses.

Derek nods. “I felt like I wouldn’t be able to connect with people as…myself. So I started showing up in full shift, pretending I was a dog. At first it was only once or twice a month, because it was a little overwhelming to be out there. But I began to crave the kind, gentle way people treated me. I needed the human contact,” he says, looking ashamed. “And I started going more and more often, until I was there practically every day.” He shudders to a stop, clenching his hands together.

“I think,” Stiles begins hesitantly. “I think you probably helped comfort a lot of people, even as they were comforting you.” Hell, Derek had even soothed Stiles’ nerves several times. He looks over, catches Derek’s eye. “And I know it wasn’t easy, but I’m glad you reached out to me.”

Derek relaxes a little, looks down at his hands again. “I’m glad you were there. Who knows how long I would have been there, not knowing how to ask for help.” He sends a quick, nervous glance Stiles’ way. “I was wanting to shift back less and less every day. I think at some point I would have just ended up staying as a wolf.”

Stiles doesn’t doubt it, because it doesn’t seem like Derek has much keeping him in the human world. He wants to do something about that. “If you do want to, um, talk to people again, a few of my friends are coming into town next week. You could come hang out with us,” he offers.

He didn’t actually say it, but it’s obvious that Derek heard the word ‘pack’ instead of the word ‘friends,’ purely from the look of hesitation and wariness on his face. Stiles would almost guarantee he’s going to say no.

“Or,” he tries, racking his brain for something else. “I’m going to the café with some people from work on Tuesday, just a totally casual lunch thing. You’re more than welcome to come with me.”

He’s doing no such thing, but he knows some easygoing people who would be fine with a last-minute lunch date.

Derek still looks hesitant, but it’s also apparent that he really wants to interact with other people again as a human, in even the most basic of ways. “Okay,” he agrees, before Stiles can start gently wheedling. “I’ll go.”

“Wonderful,” Stiles says brightly, then figures he shouldn’t make too big a deal out of this. It’ll only put pressure on Derek. “Well, it should definitely be ready now, so how about some soup?”

 

*

 

Lunch at the café goes better than Stiles expects.

He’d briefed Kira and Allison ahead of time, so they knew the situation. He didn’t want them pushing Derek too hard or asking the wrong questions. He’d hadn’t given them many details about Derek’s past—partly because he didn’t know all of them himself, and partly because he wasn’t sure Derek would want them to know. So he’d just said that Derek had suffered a loss, and was trying to learn how to be a part of society again.

They’d both nodded sympathetically and had quickly agreed to a low-pressure lunch.

And at the café Derek is really awkward at first, stiff and frowning and barely able to order himself a sandwich, but Stiles is good at talking, and keeps the conversation flowing until Derek gradually relaxes and settles in.

He even gets comfortable enough to join in the conversation a few times, though he’s clearly a little overwhelmed.

They don’t linger too long after they finish eating, because Stiles knows Derek probably needs a break from the noise and confinement. So he walks with Derek over to the local bookstore, and asks Margie if she has any membership openings for her book club.

“Sure,” she says, then cocks an eyebrow at Stiles. “Both of you?”

“No, just him,” Stiles says, squeezing Derek’s shoulder encouragingly.

He can’t be Derek’s only gateway to the real world; that’s not healthy. Derek needs to make his own connections, and needs to learn to talk to people without Stiles there as a crutch.

He glances over, wondering if Derek is upset that Stiles just volunteered him for this. But he just smiles shyly at Margie, and asks, “What are you reading now?”

“Something pretty good, I think,” she says. “I’ll get you a copy if you want.” She points to the back of the store. “And some of our other club members are here hanging out, if you’d like to meet them?”

Derek glances over at Stiles questioningly, and Stiles nods. “We have plenty of time, go ahead. I’ll just be next door at the candy store, come find me when you’re done.”

“Okay,” Derek says, looking more confident than he did at the cafe. Maybe the smell of books is as comforting to him as it is to Stiles.

Derek may have spent most of the past year as a wolf, but Stiles would bet that he wasn’t much of a social person _before_ he lost his family. So this is likely pretty stressful for him, but he’s handling it surprisingly well.

By the time Derek comes over to the candy store, Stiles has picked out three kinds of fudge—after trying numerous samples, of course—and a large assortment of truffles. He takes what he has to the register before he gets too greedy, and gives Derek a smile. “How’d it go?”

“Good,” Derek says, looking pleased. “They were really nice.”

“Yeah, they are,” Stiles says. The book club has a friendly, positive atmosphere, and is mostly older ladies and a few nerdy teenagers, who all great people. Stiles wouldn’t have introduced Derek to them if he thought they weren’t, honestly. “I’d know, I was in the book club when I first moved here.”

Derek’s eyebrows go up. “But not anymore?”

Stiles scoops up his purchases so they can head out. “Nah, I kept going off on tangents when we’d try to discuss plot points.”

“So you got kicked out?” Derek asks, looking amused. “Banned from the book club?”

“Of course not!” Stiles says, laughing. “They’d never do that. I just felt bad for talking so much, so I kicked _myself_ out.”

“I don’t think talking too much will be a problem for me,” Derek says wryly.

Stiles laughs. “No, probably not.” He glances at the book in Derek’s hand. “I guess you better get reading, I think you have a lot of catching up to do before the next meeting.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait,” Derek says with genuine enthusiasm, and Stiles has to desperately resist the urge to hug him.

 

*

 

So Derek goes to the book club every week, stops ordering his groceries online and actually goes to the store instead, and just overall tries to be in more contact with the world.

Stiles sees him sometimes at the park, completely human, and often sitting on one of the benches, reading a book. Though on one memorable occasion, Derek had been playing volleyball with some college kids when Stiles had wandered by. Derek had been shirtless and clearly in his element, and Stiles watched for a while, captivated. Then he’d realized he needed to leave before Derek noticed his lustful staring, and had made a stealthy retreat.

But he hadn’t forgotten what Derek had looked like, out there in the sunshine, smiling happily.  

Derek comes over pretty often for dinner too, seeming perfectly content to hang out at Stiles’ house. And at first that’s fine—they watch movies or play cards or talk about whatever Derek’s reading lately.

But as Derek gets more comfortable with him, and as more of his personality emerges, Stiles finds himself falling _hard_. Sure, he’d been solely attracted by Derek’s looks in the beginning, but now he’s more drawn to things like the quiet, thoughtful way Derek speaks when something is important to him, the way he listens so intently and interestedly to what’s being said, and the way he can communicate using his eyebrows alone.

So seeing Derek sprawled comfortably across the couch, or by his side chopping vegetables in the kitchen, or smiling across the table at him after getting a triple word score, it makes Stiles _ache_.

And he hasn’t been masking his scent at all—per Derek’s request—so it doesn’t take him long to figure out that something’s up.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

They’re in the middle of watching a movie they’ve both seen before, so Stiles doesn’t really mind the interruption. He just wishes it wasn’t about _this_.

“I’m fine,” he says with as much honesty as he can muster, hoping Derek will let it go.

Derek’s obviously getting better at social interaction, though, because he presses on instead of yielding like he usually does. “You’ve smelled strange around me for weeks now. You’re _not_ fine. Is it—” he hesitates. “Is it something I did?”

“Not really,” Stiles sighs. But he knows that’s not a good enough answer, so he forces himself to keep going. “Here’s the thing. I really like being your friend, Derek, but I’d also really like to be dating you.”

Derek cocks his head. “And you…don’t think I’m ready for that?” he asks, watching Stiles intently.

“Dude, only you know whether you’re ready for that or not,” Stiles says immediately, because that’s definitely _not_ his call. “No, I just didn’t think you were interested in me. At all.”

Derek’s eyebrows go up. “Surely you could _tell_ —” he starts, sounding disbelieving.

“I couldn’t, though,” Stiles cuts in quickly, trying to hide his disappointment. “Your scent never changed when you were around me.”

Derek smiles then, and Stiles feels his heart flip in his chest. “My scent never changed because I liked you from the very beginning,” he says, quietly amused.

“Oh,” is all Stiles can manage to say, thrown completely off-guard. He does his best to recover. “Does that mean you _do_ want to date me?”

Derek glances at their plates of mostly-eaten pasta on the table, then gestures to the movie still playing. “I thought we _were_ dating already. I’ve just been waiting for you to get up the nerve to kiss me.”

“Oh,” Stiles says again, feeling like an idiot. Then his brain catches up. “Oh, that’s a hint, you want me to kiss you—”

He’s interrupted by Derek’s lips pressing against his own, and he can’t help melting into it, making a small sound of pure happiness.

“Like that,” Derek finishes, pulling away with a smug little smirk.

Stiles can’t blame him for that. “Yeah,” he says, a little breathless and already wanting more. He curls his hand into the front of Derek’s shirt, grinning. “I think I have a lot of kisses to make up for,” he says, and pulls Derek back in.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come by and prompt me/talk to me [ on tumblr](http://dragon-temeraire.tumblr.com/).


End file.
